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SO IT is coming up to the Easter break and this year hot cross buns seemed to arrive on January 1, which is more outrageous than whatever happened on My Kitchen Rules, MasterChef, The Block and Game of Thrones combined.

Honestly, the only way I would watch reality TV would be if it were combined with GOT. It might be fictional but it is one TV show that knows how to hold a proper elimination.

Immediately following Easter Sunday is my favourite part of this holiday: half-price Easter eggs until the good ones are gone. It is quickly followed by half-price white, carob and weird chocolate month, as that stuff never sells. Why keep making it? I don’t know but, then again, I don’t own a chocolate company.

Personally, I have not always been lucky enough to celebrate Easter with chocolate. As a child I was a human Teletubby, with cute little man b-cups and a face that lit up like a red traffic light every time I exerted myself. Which was often sprinting to the milk bar whenever I had enough change for another Twix.

Once I ate 11 Twix in a day. These days I am OK with the sight of a Twix but take one out of its packaging and put it under my nose and I will start to gag.

As a child, owing to my size and my parents’ desire not to have a boy who shared heart medication with his grandparents, I was never taken on an Easter egg hunt.

Instead, every Easter, my parents took my sister and I to a strawberry farm, where we were told the Easter bunny had hidden strawberries. In strawberry plants.

I don’t know if it’s luck or brainwashing but I now like strawberries better than chocolate.

More Easter strawberries. They’re nearly as good as the ones not covered in chocolate. Or so I was told.

I still feel sorry for my sister. She was nowhere near as wide as she was tall, like me, but had to suffer through this yearly fruit diversion because fatty here couldn’t be trusted.

By the way, we’re going through a bumper strawberry season at the moment and they’re especially cheap right now. At Easter time. Proving, without a doubt, that there is a God.

Which is a reminder that Easter itself leaves us all in a slightly awkward position, as it’s technically the most holy of religious holidays on the Christian calendar. The content is quite morbid if you look into it but we celebrate all that by going on holiday.

So should we feel bad for keeping the name, taking the days off and making it all about the chocolate? Well, whichever way you turn it around, holidays are often about sacrifice, or eggs.

Sometimes they’re about making sacrifices for family, as my sister made for me, and, according to the Christians, a carpenter made for everyone.

Other times they’re about laying in bed and doing absolutely nothing, such as a chicken sitting on an egg.

Looking back further, Easter has its origins in a pagan festival celebrating the birth of spring, which explains the eggs. The reason they’re delivered by a rabbit, however, has everyone flummoxed. Perhaps on that first Easter, the costume shop was out of chicken suits.